


365 Days of You

by MizzGinger



Series: GoM Love Chronicles [5]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: AU, F/M, Lemon, Love Triangles, Older Characters, Physical Abuse, Smut, Vaginal Sex, cheerleading, for mature viewers cause of the mature topics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 03:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13989702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizzGinger/pseuds/MizzGinger
Summary: Since day one of meeting Kise Ryouta, your whole world began to change. Days become weeks, weeks into months, and soon enough your life, perspective, and abusive boyfriend become things of the past.Older!Kise Ryouta x [Reader] x Older!Haizaki Shogo





	365 Days of You

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing noticeable belongs to me, just the plot.

**DAY 1**

A bright orange ball rolls smoothly on the floor until it bumps into your left foot. You cast it a side glance before kicking it in the direction of its owner. The action is quick and with minimal effort, and you didn't think much of it until someone bursts out in laughter.

"This isn't soccer, you know!"

Blinking slowly, you turn around to face the culprit of your annoyance. Upon spotting their wide smile and handsome features, your mood worsens into a grizzly state. Not a single word leaves your lips, and you turn on your heel to present him your back.

The blonde smirks, eyes flashing with detached mirth; he doesn't appear fazed by your ploy to ignore him. "For a cheerleader, you should be more aware of what kind of team you're cheering for."

You cast a sharp gaze in his direction and spot his unreadable expression. To some, it might appear as if he's playing around with you in a lighthearted manner, but you can see his detestable soul. His body possesses no true kindness, and you're merely a plaything in his eyes.

The feeling forces you into a fit of anger, and your lower lip curls into a sneer. "Don't bother me."

"Ehhh? Shouldn't cheerleaders be more bubbly?"

"Shouldn't you go practice?"

Neither of you takes each other's crap, and his gaze transforms into that of excitement. "You have a mouth on you."

Your frown seems to be permanently etched on your face. "Yeah, men seem to like that on a woman." With that, you leave an amused Kise and return to your coworkers, hoping never to encounter that man again.

 

**DAY 2**

"JUMP HIGHER!"

You know that the coach's shout is directed at you, seeing as how you ruined the uniformity of the team. Cursing under your breath, you wipe the sweat off your brows. "I'll do it again!"

You spend hours in your routine, attempting to perfect it and not realizing how late it got. The minute you're satisfied with the results of your practice, you return to the real world-- and damn, you're thirsty.

"Ah, I just emptied the cooler out. Just grab some from the player's section," a floor assistant states when they spot your wandering gaze.

"Got it..." you sigh as you begin to head over to the main court.

When you find the cooler, you don't think much of the fact that you're using another team's cooler and you fill your water bottle. There's a bored look on your face as you watch the basketball team perform drills. They're drenched in sweat but possess no signs of stopping. Truly, their unbreakable will is admirable.

"Can you move a bit?"

The familiar voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and when you meet the gaze of Master of the Idiots, Kise Ryouta, your mood once again sours. You don't budge and continue pressing the button until you're satisfied with the amount.

He laughs at your rebellious attitude, finding it somewhat refreshing and annoying at the same time. Ultimately he decides it best to wait, seeing as how you carry a rather large bottle and show no signs of politeness to move aside for him.

As he waits, his gaze inspects your form in a purely analytical manner. It isn't until you finish and make eye contact with him that he provides his conclusion. "So I guess I was right," he hums with little to no interest, "you do have silly outfits."

A desire to murder him overwhelms your body. You grit your teeth as a way to hold back your fury, but the dam that constricts your mouth has had enough.

"Not as silly as your eyelashes. Wing-tipped? Very cute," you dryly retort. You snap the cap back on to your water bottle and give him one last look. He's taken aback by your comment but not enough to arouse anger. "Why don't you go back to what you do best? Looking pretty and staying insignificant on that bench."

It's a low blow. Incapacitated by his injury, all that he ever does is practice a bit and then warms the bench during the games. There's a pained look on his face whenever the cameras zoom in on him, and you know that. But you were in no mood to shoulder the brunt of his negativity.

"Goodbye," you huff while leaving the gym.

 

**DAY 3**

The hot summer breeze wafts into your one-bedroom apartment. It's a simple floor plan: you open the front door to find a petite kitchen which leads to a sliding door that holds the bedroom area with a small bathroom attached. The building is a two-story tower with little utilities, save for a communal washer and dryer. You find it broken most of the time and have to drive to the local laundromat to use working equipment.

Moral of the explanation: your apartment sucks. With no air conditioner, you find yourself in a heated blaze most summers, today being no exception. A fan blows out some air your way while your window circulates oxygen around your room.

A weight on your head angers you to no end. The obscene amount of hair you've grown out has now become a menace in your eyes. The desire to cut it grows stronger with each drop of sweat that rolls down the valley of your chest. Alas, it's forbidden to cut your hair, your occupation demanding it's cheerleaders to follow standard beauty protocol.

A sigh floats out your mouth as your eyes drift over to the small box T.V. in the corner. Surrounding it are a few DVD's and a large brown box that holds your past. Nothing else occupies the area. It's dead inside the room, just like your heart.

You exhale harshly and decide it best to practice your routine, your day off once again foiled by the terrible memories of the past.

 

**DAY 4**

"Televised appearances start in a month. We're doing some promotional work in the area in the meantime," your coach states as they read from a tablet. "I'm emailing you the schedules I have set up for each dancer. All of you have different schedules, and it is paramount that you not change any days."

"What if a day doesn't work for us?" a girl speaks up. You glance over your shoulder to see the newest addition to the team. It's a girl years younger than you, probably fresh out of high school, and wears a look as if everything had been handed to her because of her looks.

The coach sends her a sharp glare. "We have the promotion group already creating marketing material with your names on it. Everything is set in stone unless you're no longer on the team."

The girl's face pales and she sinks back into the obscurity of the team. "I understand, sorry."

After being on the team for the past two years, you expected that reaction from the coach. She doesn't boast a reservoir of patience, her go-to methods resulting in yelling and glaring. You're used to such a coach and find no wrongdoings in her actions. Maybe others aren't used to that sort of behavior, but the prestige of being in this specific basketball team chains them here.

The coach returns her attention to the table and continues her announcements. "The captain is going to be Furukawa, and the vice-captain is [Last Name]."

For once, your bleak attitude rises at the promotion. Your eyes shift over to Furukawa, and she returns the gaze with a surprised expression of her own. However, the moment of elatedness breaks when you realize who you will be working with, the queen of the fake girls.

"I need Furukawa for her leadership of the girls, and [Last Name] for her technicality. If you have any problems, go to them for assistance."

Although you rejoice the higher pay, the fact that you'll be now an older sister to the group terrifies you. Not once has anyone looked up to you for anything, and you weren't sure on how long it'll take to disappoint someone again.

 

**DAY 5**

Overall, it had been a bad day. The girls only flock to Furukawa for advice and somehow started some anti-[Name] campaign. The amount of hostility in the group forces you into a flurry of mistakes, causing the girls to laugh at each one of them. Just because you don't act familiar and ditzy, they stamp you as the rude, brutish girl that needs to be avoided.

It sucks. You really detest those type of privileged girls that can sit there and judge someone for not smiling enough. You're only here for the job, and because you're one of the best in the team, it kills those girls that you won't be going anywhere anytime soon.

You throw back your head as you down another shot. Regret dances along your fingertips as you grab the next glass, but you ignore it and continue drinking. There is no one to go home to, no one who worries for you, and the feeling leaves you empty.

Your stomach growls, interrupting your thoughts, and you lift your head up to gaze at the bartender. "Hey, you."

The man tries his best to not give you the light of day, but with the lack of customers asking for drinks, he's obliged to answer. "More vodka?"

"You have a burger?"

"Is that wise for a cheerleader?

You whip your head to your left to face a smirking idiot--Lord of the Idiots, Kise Ryouta. Unfortunately for you, there's enough alcohol in your system to take down an elephant, breaking your will to ignore him.

"Can't a girl eat?" You don't wait for his response and return your attention to the bartender. "Well?"

"I have chips and salsa."

"I want a meal though."

You can see how much of a pain you're being to the guy just by the look on his face. "Fine," he heaves out before disappearing into the back.

You notice Kise's body shaking, and he lets out a loud laugh after a few seconds."Hah! I've never seen that guy get frustrated with someone!"

"I didn't do much though."

"You must have been annoying him all night," he responds. Again, his smile holds no sincerity; it's as if he's forgotten the true meaning of a smile.

Your face scrunches in disgust. "Can you stop that?"

"What?" The corners of his lips falter until they settle into a straight line.

With two hands, you reach out and push the edge of his lips up into a smile. You don't know what possesses you to make skin contact with someone you hate (it's definitely the alcohol), but you reside your fingers there as you speak.

"Faking that shitty smile. If you don't want to, then don't."

Your words mean little to you, but they hold much more significance to the blonde. He raises his hands to grab hold of yours. You try to break from him, but his grip is far too tight. "Then it appears you never have a reason to smile."

Your eyes widen. "Are you watching me?"

He finally lets go of your hands, an enticing smirk plastered on his lips. "It's hard not to notice a passionate dancer."

You're stunned by his statement, and it takes you a moment to realize his true intentions. "Fuck off."

"I mean it."

You don't answer as you watch the bartender return with a plate. He places it in front of you with little interaction and goes back to tending to the bar. You take your time devouring the meal, knowing it to be your last great food for the remaining months. Televised games are coming up, and with the new technology, every pore of yours will be zoomed in for everyone to see.

Kise regresses to his lone wolf attitude, keeping his glass of whiskey in his right hand at all times. He pauses to think, his eyes becoming glazed, and after a few minutes, he takes another small sip.

When you finish your burger, you spot his lackluster attempt at drinking and reach out to steal his glass. He appears far too in his own world to notice, and you snatch it away with relative ease. "H-Hey--" He freezes when he sees you drink it all, and you send him an unexpected grin.

"It's clear you don't like to drink. I was helping you with it!"

Although he wants to chastise you, he can't help but be mesmerized by your break in aloofness. He finds the way your eye crinkle and glint endearing. His heart dances at the sight, and he knows the growing tent in his pants is a result of it.

"Hey," he murmurs into your ear. You aren't sure when he leaned in so close, but the vodka allows a heavy blush to paint your cheeks. "Why don't you give me some reasons to smile?"

Your mind goes blank. Ignoring the cheesy pickup line, you find yourself enticed by his suggestion. It's been three weeks since your last fuck, and you're eager to get some tension out of your system. Had you never tasted the addiction that is sex, you would have flat out refused the man before you, but a burning need erases your obligations and moral compass.

He wants one fun night, and you will gladly provide.

 

**DAY 6**

Midnight rolls around and you know that you are starting your day on the wrong foot. You have Kise Ryōta with his tongue down your mouth and making your knees wobble under your weight. He has you pinned against the wall of your small apartment, forcing you into submission.

"How about you show me that mouth of yours?" he purs in your ear, still panting from the heavy make-out session. You quiver at the beautiful dark tones in his voice and oblige to his question.

Sliding down to your knees, you fumble around with his pants until they reside by his ankles. A short work of his boxers and you have his stiff member in your hand. This is the moment of truth. Would you take that step and sully your hands? Or would you back out now and leave him blue-balled?

Hearing him growl in protest has you choosing the former, and you stick out your tongue to lick the head. Music graces your ears, his wanton cries of pleasure dancing around the four walls of your apartment. His hips buck with every suck, and his body shakes when he feels he's close. You play with him a bit, edging him out until he's begging to cum.

"You sure," you whisper as you glance up.

"Damn, you really like to tease," he says between grit teeth.

"The thing is," you hum while pumping him some more, "I don't know if I want you to finish now or much later."

He doesn't waste a second in pulling away, and you blink at the lack of touch. You open your mouth to play it all off as a joke, but you're pulled harshly onto your messy futon. Kise collapses on your side and pulls you to sit on his lap.

"Get on top of me," he orders, his voice several tones lower.

You smirk at his eagerness. "I prefer the man taking lead though."

It goes quiet for a moment, and Kise breaks eye contact with you. Your eyebrows knit together at his sudden change of demeanor. "I can't on a futon," he spits out.

You watch his gaze quickly travel to his knee, and a gasp of realization escapes you. He doesn't need to say more, and you fulfill his request. Without another word, you guide his cock into your warmth until you're fully impaled.

You know this to be wrong for many reasons, but anything resembling a care gets thrown out your system in hopes of achieving complete satisfaction. The moment he plays with your hidden button and rolls his hip, you know you'll reach nirvana soon.

 

**DAY 7**

Today's practice match ends with little to no problems. Kise, once again, never shines and remains seated on the bench. However, another player you're far too familiar with stands out and leaves the team in awe.

You dance without a single mistake. It isn't until the coach finds the team to be uniform enough that she dismisses practice. You now walk home, headphones blaring electronic music as you chew on some gum. As you blow out a bubble, your gaze wanders to the sky above you.

Having found a cheap apartment near the outskirts of Tokyo, you're able to see the starry sky clearly. Millions of stars litter your vision, and it lifts the burdens you hold on your shoulder. When you finally make it to your apartment building, you take one last look of appreciation at the sky, but the cocky voice of your boyfriend snaps you out of your reverie.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

You look up the stairs to see Haizaki and his annoyed expression. Your mood deflates and your bubble pops. You skillfully weave the gum back into your mouth before you speak. "I didn't think you'd come back."

"I said I needed time to cool off." He appears angry that he had to explain himself, but you're used to his shitty personality. With a sigh, you climb up the stairs and unlock the door to your apartment. He follows you inside, sliding off his bag. "This place is trash as always."

"I don't know why you come here if it's trash," you mumble out.

He doesn't hear your comment and throws himself onto the futon. Placing his hands behind his head, he watches as you enter the room. A sleazy smirk is plastered on his face, and you know what he's up to. "Hey, wear your uniform for me."

"I don't want to get it dirty."

"But you should make your boyfriend feel special," he goads you on. He knows you'll oblige soon enough; you've never really turned him down for anything.

"You left and fucked other girls--"

"Don't fucking accuse me of cheating, bitch."

His anger causes you to flinch. Flashbacks of your mother getting beaten throw your world into turmoil, and you give in without another word. You shred off your clothes and place the itty bitty clothes onto your frame. He watches every moment of it, and his smirk returns.

"I'm a lucky guy with you, huh?"

Your eyes are devoid of any humanity, and you amble up to where he lays. He lowers his torso as you straddle him, and you remember the sinful deeds you did almost 20 hours ago.

Haizaki inhales deeply, hoping to sniff out your arousal, but instead, he smells something odd. "Was someone here?"

"What?"

"Smells like shitty cologne."

Your face pales at the thought of Kise, but you recover quickly to put out any fires. "Probably the one you were wearing the day you left."

"Dirty girl," he raises his hand and slaps your ass harshly. "You should wash your futons more."

The pain rips out a gasp from you, and you know you're in for a rough night.

 

**Week 1: End**


End file.
